i'd trade my soul for a wish, pennies and dimes for a kiss
by maddieclaybourne
Summary: i'd trade my soul for a wish, pennies and dimes for a kiss/i wasn't looking for this, but now you're in my way/ or steve rogers, all american hero, never saw maxie jones, the epitome of the modern woman coming, and now that he has, he can't get her out of his head
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: This is a fic that was done for a song fic challenge for the song "Call Me Maybe" by Carly Rae Jepsen on a fanfiction board that I write for regularly. I thought I'd post it here as well. It's a crossover featuring Steve Rogers from The Avengers and Maxie Jones from the soap opera General Hospital. Another pairing that's hinted through the fic is Bruce Banner and Maxie's cousin Robin Scorpio who, for those who watch GH is **not** dead or kidnapped or whatever in this, lol._

**~*~****i'd trade my soul for a wish, pennies and dimes for a kiss~*~  
(i wasn't looking for this, but now you're in my way)  
pairing: maxie jones/steve rogers  
fandoms: general hospital/the avengers**

part one of five

Steve doubts he'll _ever _forget the first time he met Bruce's girlfriend Robin's younger cousin Maxie.

He was _still _getting used to the way things were in this new century, how different they were from his own time. His cheeks burned from the look of _blatant appraisal_ that was evident inside her sparkling diamond eyes. He could feel the blush that was staining his cheeks drift down to his neck, possibly _even _seeping into the contours of his chest at the sight of her tongue slipping out to lick her lips.

"_OMG,"_ She breathed, the combination of letters causing his eyebrows to pinch in confusion. "Please, please, please," She clasped her hands together and her eyes drifted toward the ceiling, almost as if she was in prayer. "Tell me this is _not_ a dream. And if it is, please, please, please don't ever let me wake up. Like, ever. Cause I doubt I'll see a guy as hot as this outside of my dreams."

"Miss," He says, taking a cautious step toward her. "You aren't dreaming, I'm afraid."

"_**Duh."**_ She remarks, tone flat as her thick eyelashes flutter, revealing her diamond eyes once again. "As if I'd dream a hot guy like _you_ into – **ugh** - " Her nose scrunched in disapproval. "Pleated pants," His eyebrows drew closer together, head titled in confusion as she shuddered, despite the fact that she was wearing a tangerine trench coat, a style he recognized. "And Old McDonald's rejected plaid shirt. _Please._ You'd be wearing Dolce in my dreams. _Actually_..." The appraisal was back in her eyes in a flash and the grin that curved at her pink lips was nothing less than salacious. "You'd be wearing _nothing_ and so would I."

_Now _ Steve was sure the blush on his cheeks had seeped into every inch of his body. He's not sure how to respond to that, his body tensing as if she's going to pounce on him the way the secretary at the base had done all those years ago after he had returned from rescuing Bucky's platoon from being captured by HYDRA.

Before she can – not that he's certain she will – the sound of Robin's familiar warm tone enters the fray, "Maxie!" She calls, surprise evident in her voice and Steve feels like he can breathe again.

His eyes widen as he watches the blonde – he's just realized her hair's the color of platinum, not unlike Jean Harlow's was back in his day – smacks the friendly brunette on her shoulder. "What the hell is the matter with you?" She hisses. "Like, seriously, Robin you're _more_ than my cousin, you're like the big sister I never had and you couldn't _bother_ to tell me you and your Bill Nye the Science Guy boyfriend were roomies with a _**freaking**_ _Abercrombie model_?! Because, um, _hellooooo_!" She exaggerates the word. "I think that's obviously valuable information. Duh. In fact _that_ should've been the first words out of your mouth, not I'm moving in with my boyfriend in a ridiculously super awesome, state of the art tower that belongs to _THE TONY STARK_, but that my boyfriend is roomies with _an Abercrombie model_! Lulu totes would've told me if Dante's roommate was _that_ gorgeous. I should give her all your Christmas presents this year."

"**Maxie!"** Robin hisses right back, lightly tan skin flushing bright.

"What?" Maxie fakes innocence, batting her lashes preciously. "Like, he hasn't been told he's **out-of-this-world-OMG-my-ovaries-just-exploded-hot** before. Please. He hears it all the time, I bet. Because let's be real here, only someone _that_ ridiculously good looking can sort of, kind of maybe make dressing like a Grandpa not a completely heinous fashion crime. So," She turns away from Robin, her diamond eyes meeting Steve's baby blues. "Which _one_ are you, anyway? There's, like, three other guys that live here besides Robin's boy toy and duh, Tony Stark," Her eyes cut to Robin briefly. "Who you're _soooooo_ introducing me to later. His spread in _French Vogue_ last month was fabulous. I _swear_ he's like the only guy, ever, who could pull off a full-on plaid suit and still look smoking instead of, you know, dorky. ANYWAY..." Steve's eyes were wide, wondering if she even took a breath during her rambling. "Are you the archer dude, the one who wears the cape, which is awesome – capes are in this season – or the guy who's, like, wrapped in the American Flag? I know, _I know_," She waves her hand dismissively. "I should be able to put names with faces – you guys, the Revengers or whatever – are, like, _everywhere_ these days, but the news is soooooo depressing, you know? And since you guys haven't made _Us Weekly_ or _Life and Style_ or _Just Jared_, I'm not exactly up to date on who's who. Oh and Tony's the only one of you who's been in, like, all of my Bibles... You know," Steve watched, amazed at how she was still talking and still unsure if she had taken a breath. "_Vogue, French Vogue, GQ, Glamour, Elle, Elle UK, W, and Harper's Bazar."_

"Um..." Steve fumbled, unsure if in between all of her rambling, she had asked him to introduce himself. He was honestly still stuck on the fact that her "Bibles" were _not_ The King James version he was familiar with and that she apparently had more than one.

"Are you okay?" She questioned, perfectly plucked brows furrowing together.

"Fine." He answered somewhat smoothly. Tentatively he took another step toward her, her perfume – a heady scent – he couldn't name, hit him full force making him dizzy. Or maybe it was the plunging neckline of her skin-tight dress with its indecently [at least during his time, anyway] short hem and all that creamy, flawless skin he could see that did it.

Either way he could feel his body temperature rising steadily.

Swallowing thickly, he felt like he was thrown back in time and put into the backseat of the car with Peggy as they rode toward the facility that would change his life. Even with his new found height and the way the super-serum had transformed his body, he was still hopeless around such pretty women, and Maxie – now that he was closer and actually concentrating on looking her in the face – was pretty.

His fingers itched, in a way they hadn't in so long, to find a piece of charcoal and just draw. The lights in the foyer of the tower highlighted the sharply angled planes of her high cheekbones perfectly and there was still the hint of moisture on her lips – from when she, he flushed even deeper, licked them, looking like dew glistening on pink rose petals.

"Steve," Robin's easy tone broke through the silence, soft smile gracing her pert berry colored lips. "This is my cousin, Maxie Jones. Maxie," There was affectionate warning in her tone. "This is Captain Steve Rogers."

"It's a pleasure, Miss Jones." He stuck out his hand for her to shake, which she did. Her hand was small and delicate, her fingers slender and light as they wrapped around his broader, heavier ones.

Her head was tipped coyly, a small but devilish smirk painted her cupid's bow lips as she intoned huskily, "You mean it's a pleasure for _me_, don't you, Captain?"

"Aaaaand on that note," Robin quickly stepped between them, steering Maxie toward the elevator banks. "I think it's about time I finally introduced you to Tony."

"_Oh, please_," Maxie grumbled, swatting Robin's hands away. "It's not like I was going to molest him in the hallway. I was just flirting. Jeez."

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Steve doesn't think he'll see Maxie again after she leaves the tower the first time he encountered her. He figures she'd be a fleeting presence, just another in a long line of pretty girls that came and went from his life.

He's wrong.

A few weeks later, Tony's latest assistant quits. As long as Steve has known Tony that job has been filled with a rotating cast of flustered men and women, none of whom Steve manages to see more than once or twice. Knowing Howard's son like he does now [after they first saved the world and got off to a less than stellar start], it doesn't surprise him. Miss Potts and JARVIS – his AI, that Steve's still not quite used to – seem to be the only two who can come close to keeping the man in line.

But with Miss Potts now CEO of Stark Industries and JARVIS far too valuable to be relegated to being a token memo book/nanny/calendar/appointment tracker – in Tony's colorful words – the hunt for another assistant begins.

Steve wouldn't put it past Tony if he did the things he did on purpose so Miss Potts would go back to being his full-time assistant and CEO.

Then one evening when they're all having dinner, Robin mentions to Miss Potts that her younger cousin Maxie is in need of a job and with her experience at being the assistant for someone named Kate Howard, Steve doesn't recognize the name, should be considered for the opening of being Tony's assistant.  
This makes Steve confused because the way Robin speaks of Maxie – her tone so warm and loving, although sometimes exasperated but always affectionate – he thought she would _never_ want to put the young woman through the hell that was working for Tony.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Pepper took Robin's suggestion to heart because a week later, Steve nearly collides with Maxie as she's coming off the elevator. He reaches for her, his enhanced reflexes, springing him into action the moment she looks like she's going to teeter, and he has to swallow hard. He's overwhelmed by the heady scent of her perfume and he can feel that dizziness creeping over his head like a fog.

He's aware – _painfully so_ – of the heat of her skin and how the feminine shape of her frame melds into his. He also can't help but notice just how tiny – there's no other word – she really is. It wasn't something he took the time to pay attention to the first time he encountered her, but now that she's pressed against him, he can see he's practically towering over her, something he never would've been able to achieve once upon a time.

"And here I thought," Her tone is unabashedly flirty just like the spark in her diamond eyes and the grin on her cupid's bow lips that glisten from gloss. "The perks of being Tony Stark's assistant would be getting chauffeured around the city, walking the red carpet in drop dead gorgeous designer gowns, all access to the best restaurants and parties around, Pepper never mentioned getting _up close and personal_ with Stark Tower's resident Captain Hottie."

Suddenly, it's as if he's unable to form words, like his brain has shut down. Flirting was always more Bucky's bag than his. Banter and repartee with a pretty dame was something he'd never been good at, super-serum or no super-serum.

He swallows again, this time because his throat is dry, and he manages to catch her sparkling gaze, red staining his cheeks. "I..." He fumbles and she laughs, bright and bouncy, like the delicate, sprinkling sound of wind chimes.

"You can _still_ talk, right?" Her eyes are wide with alarm. "Cause, _seriously_ even though you have, like,_nothing_ to do with being Tony Stark's assistant I'm pretty sure breaking one of his superhero playmates is grounds for getting fired, and that _cannot_ happen. Seriously, it can't. I, um, _need_ this job, bad. Like badder than you could ever imagine. I mean not even a crappy one bedroom apartment is as cheap as it should be in New York, and I just I..." Her bottom lip started to tremble. "I can't go back home. Or where home used to be or whatever. And Robin's the only person I know here and she stuck her neck out for me, I don't have the greatest resume or, like, much of one, honestly, but I can assist with the best of them and I just _reaaaallly_," She stressed the word. "Need this. So you're not broken, are you?"

"B-broken?" Steve stammered, brows pinching in confusion.

"**Thank God!"** Maxie breathed, features smoothing into relief. "Cause, seriously, Captain Hottie, I thought I had totes, like, caused _a major_ malfunction for you or something. I mean it's like no one's ever flirted with you before, which is _just crazy_ because, you're, you know, mega hot and all. So... yeah, I better get my ass in gear and start assisting and stuff cause like I said, I _cannot_ get fired. Later!"

She was gone in a blur of platinum curls bouncing, heady perfume catching his nose and the clacking of heels, but the sight of her legs in sheer stockings, complete with seam going up the back, would be etched into his mind like a photograph.


	2. Chapter 2

**~*~i'd trade my soul for a wish, pennies and dimes for a kiss~*~**

**(i wasn't looking for this, but now you're in my way)**

**part two of five**

It turns out Maxie is great, as far as Steve can tell, at being Tony's assistant. He can't be sure what _exactly_ the job entails, though he does know she spends some of her time updating his official Facebook and Twitter accounts [whatever those are]. Surprisingly she lasts longer than a week and doesn't look like she wants to murder Tony [he swears if some of the assistants could've gotten away with it, they would have] every time Steve sees her, which may be considered low standards for success, but that's Tony for you.

This, of course, means she's at the tower _a lot_ more. And her sheer stockings, complete with seam going up the back, make multiple appearances. His temperature rises _just_ a little more each time he's treated to the sight.

She's usually chasing after Tony, her shapely [not that he's noticed] but short legs, struggling at times to keep up with his quick strides or sitting at the sleek opaque desk in what used to be Howard's office. At the end of long days – if she's wearing a blouse – the top buttons will come un-done and the delicate column of her throat will be exposed and her dangerously [if you asked him] spiked high heeled shoes will be tossed underneath her desk, revealing – if she's not wearing stockings – her slender feet with toes painted in some outrageous color of nail varnish.

He would never admit it to anyone, but there are several sketches of her that fill the pages of his books, just like _that _– not perfectly put together and stylish – but a little rumpled and still impossibly beautiful.

After a few weeks, Steve notices there's been a visible shift in power. Somehow, more often than not, it seemed that _Maxie_ was telling Tony what to do instead of the opposite.

One Monday morning – during Bruce's weekly pancake breakfast [a tower tradition that began when Robin moved in] – Tony was trying to wiggle out of a presentation he'd been booked to do for months, long before Maxie even became his assistant.

Steve notices that Maxie doesn't look up from her fruit and yogurt parfait [pancakes,_ apparently_, go straight to her hips and she's planning on cheating with a pastry – an ooey gooey cinnamon roll, specifically – from Starbucks later] as she types vigorously on her cell phone, ignoring Tony's transparent excuses.

"Um, yeah, you may be a _genius-billionaire-playboy-bunny-charity-guy_ or whatever it is," Her tone sounds like she's bored. "But I've heard every excuse there is to get out of something, because I've used them all... Like, _three million times._ Just ask Robin. So..." She looks up from her phone, leveling Tony with a shrewd gaze. "Happy's going to be waiting for you in the garage at six, the slate grey John Varvatos suit is on your bed, the jeweler Alfredo sent over the latest Tag Huer with a red face in honor of, _ugh,_" She rolled her eyes. "Your alter ego, Rocketman or whatever it is you call yourself, and all you need to do is slip on your signature aviators and be pretty. Either that or I can get Robin's boy-toy to get all mean and green and _he'll_ stuff you into the backseat of the car while you're wearing a rumpled Tom Ford suit that's _soooo_ last season. It's your choice. I'm still getting paid _and_ that delicious bonus of a Barney's shopping spree for six hundred dollars since I've lasted a full month as your slave."

"Brucey! And Brucey's little canary!" Tony called. "Your children will be pretty and smart! Your little cousin over here is _exactly_ the assistant I've been looking for all this time. She's bossy, loud, knows her designers, appreciates the finer things _and_ isn't afraid to show a little leg or a little cleavage either, which I appreciate very much." He then turned his always twinkling dark eyes onto Maxie, ever-present smirk crossing his lush lips. "I think you might just last another month, Tinker Belle."

"That depends," She returns his smirk in kind. "On if I can pick my bonus for lasting _that_ long."

"Yeah," Tony drawls. "Because I don't already know what you're going to pick. I saw you literally _drooling_ over Pepper's Louboutin pumps the other day. What are you? A six? Six and a half?"

"_Seriously?"_ Her eyes are wide and her mouth's hanging open, she looks comically adorable, not that Steve's paying attention to how she looks. "You'd buy me _**the holy grail**_ of shoes just for being your paper pusher for two months? OMG!" She squealed, clapping her hands excitedly. "If you weren't old enough to be my Dad and I wouldn't be a disaster of a Mom, I'd totes have your babies!"

"Ugh," Tony groans, rubbing his temples. "I'm breaking your number one rule, Pep," He tells the lovely redhead. "I'm having several gimlets before noon. The _fetus_," His nose scrunched. "That you and Tweety forced me to hire as my assistant _dared_ to call me old. If that doesn't say several gimlets before noon, I don't know what does."

* * *

The first time Steve really spends time with Maxie is a few weeks later. His room – not that he really minds – is next to Thor's and as he's found out since his girlfriend Jane Foster – an astrophysicist – transferred her studying from New Mexico to **S.H.I.E.L.D** headquarters in Manhattan, they have sex a lot. Like,_** a lot**_, a lot. And honestly it doesn't bother him except... well, Thor tends to be very vocal and even though the walls separating their rooms are thick, he can sometimes hear them anyway.

And yes, it's the middle of the day [good Lord!], but right now is one of those times he can hear them.

He had planned on taking a spell and reading, but once the thumping started from the next room over, he knew his plans had been thwarted. At least somewhat. Taking his book down to the spacious sun room, he figured he would be alone – Tony was hunkered down in his lab doing whatever it is he did down there for days on end, sometimes, Bruce was with Robin at **S.H.I.E.L.D** working on research, Clint and Natasha were on a mission – but it turned out he was wrong.

When he gets to the sun room, Maxie is there, draped across the couch, bare feet swaying absently in the air as she appears to be sorting through Tony's mail. He's unsure if she can see the shadow he casts in the doorway – or at least he is – until he watches her head turn and then a smile blooms across the seam of her perfectly pink cupid's bow lips.

"Hey, Captain Hottie." Her tone's teasing and light, just like the sparkle of her diamond eyes. He's still not used to her blatant appraisal of his looks and how she freely calls attention to them. Though, after the first time she called him 'Captain Hottie' he had to ask Tony what she meant. Remembering _that_ incident, makes him fight the urge to squirm.

"Hello, Miss..." He stops himself as he watches her eyes narrow, catching him in the act of calling her _Miss Jones_. He clears his throat, smile breaking out across his lips of its own accord, and amends, "Hello, Maxie," but he's still unsure of what to do. If he sits down and reads while she's working – or appears to be working – will it seem rude? But if he walks away [obviously] changing his mind about sitting in the sun room after seeing her there, will _that_ seem rude?

He sighs internally; cursing himself for continuing to be so hopeless around women. Skull-faced Nazis were so much easier to deal with.

"Are you just going to stand there like a ridiculously hunky statue? Or are you going to bring your out-of-this-world-OMG-my-ovaries-just-exploded-hot ass in here?" She raised a pointed brow and he felt trapped; he'd waited too long to decide what to do and she obviously noticed.

"I promise," Her tone's sing-song and breathless now, sending heat ping-ponging through him. "I won't bite unless," Her eyes are the perfect description of bedroom eyes come to life, half-lidded and suddenly a dark sapphire instead of sparkling diamond. "You _want_ me to."

"I..." He has to swallow as he blinks, struggling to move past her scandalous innuendo. "I was going to read," He stumbles. "But if you're working..." He trails off, hoping she'll take pity and give him any sort of clue as to what he should do.

"OMG!" She scrambles into a sitting position, her skirt riding up just enough for his eyes to catch a flash of creamy thigh. "Stop! Stop! Seriously, like, you cannot –_ I repeat_ – cannot look at me like that! Who are you? Puss In Boots? A freaking Disney Princess? Jeez, put those puppy eyes away! They're like weapons of mass destruction or something! Just get in here, would ya? I can't take you staring at me all helpless and confused. And I thought your hotness destroyed my ovaries."

"I... I'm sorry?" Steve fumbled, brows pinching in confusion.

"It's no big deal." She dismissed. "In fact, I should probably thank you for being so freaking-ovary-destroying-hot and all. You saved some poor future kid for being stuck with me as its Mommy. Like, _seriously,_ no kid deserves that. Anyway... Just um, sit wherever. I'm not really working. Just, you know, sorting through all of Tony's mail. Nothing super important. Besides," She was back to looking flirty in a pound of Steve's rapidly beating heart. "I prefer my distractions super hunky with the most perfect cheekbones ever and baby blue eyes." She shot him a wink and went back to sorting through the mail.

He doesn't get much reading done; she's far more interesting [distracting] than his book. The way her teeth sink into her bottom lip, how her skin – flawless and milky – glistens in the light that streams through the windows, the jagged edges of her cropped hair framing her high cheekbones just so and the way she grumbles to herself – cursing Tony – as she types rapidly on her phone, so fast her thumbs are like a blur.

"Soooooo," She elongates the word, like she's prone to do. "You're going to the big blowout at the Met, aren't you?" She's not looking at him, she's still sorting through mail, feigning casualness that Steve sees through easily.

"I have to, I guess. We all do, really. Director Fury's postponed any missions for Clint and Natasha and Thor's here, so..." His voice trails off as he shrugs. The Avengers are getting some kind of award with a big fancy dinner and little glasses of champagne [that he won't drink] and probably [most likely] many embarrassing speeches. Steve really dislikes the speeches.

"Okay, so suddenly I feel, like, _a whole lot_ better." Relief takes over her sharply rounded features and he tilts his head in confusion. "I'm going too and while I loooooove parties, can't help it, I'm a social butterfly, but I'm used to these things – big parties, galas, charity things, whatever – ending super, duper badly where I'm from. Like," Her eyes widen for emphasis. "You have _no_ idea. Seriously, mine and Robin's hometown could use you guys as security for the next big blow out. No joke. ANYWAY... I, um, don't have a date and the only person I'd ask to be mine – well," Her eyes grow haunted and distant, but it's only brief. "He's got, **ugh**," Her nose scrunches up in disgust. "A _girlfriend_," She spits out the word, like it's so much bitter on her tongue. "And I'm trying to be all mature and grown-up and _not_ me, so I can't ask him and Tony said you never bring a date to these things, so we can just – you know – be there, at the same place, together. Two ridiculously pretty people dressed to kill, sipping champagne, mingling and all that, together. And let's be real here; everyone else in this tower's going to be paired off and I hate looking like a spinster. I'm too young and gorgeous and fabulous to be in the category of _'hey, look __**that**__ lame-o couldn't find a date.' _Seriously, I am."

"H-how do you know I don't have a date?" Steve can't help but feel a little stung that she'd assume he wouldn't have a date just because he hadn't brought anyone to these functions before.

"Yeah...Um, I have, like, no brain-to-mouth filter. I just think stuff and it comes out. Unlike most people. Who, you know, have tact and think before they speak and all that...yeah. So was that your way of telling me you do have a date and that I should shut up?"

"N-no, no that's not what I was trying to say. I, um, for the record," He can't help but turn sheepish. "I don't have a date. Unless the offer you made still stands? If so, I guess my date would be you, Mis..." He corrects himself faster this time. "Maxie." He hopes she can't hear the reverence with which he says her name.

"**Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!**" She yelps, eyes going wide and pointing at him accusingly. "This is not a _date_! Like, the last thing I need is to be going on dates, okay? Dates lead to hand holding and kissing and," She shudders as if she's cold, like she did the first time they met. "_Feelings_ and," She waves her hand dismissively. "I just can't. Me and feelings? It's, like, getting Robin's science boy-toy angry, okay? It never ends well, someone always gets hurt, lives get wrecked... It's just bad. So no this is not a date, okay? We're just, you know, two ridiculously pretty people hanging out and stuff. Deal?"

The way she looks at him – a mixture of hopeful and expectant – has him saying amiably, "Okay, it's not a date. Got it."

Still, he can't help but feel good about it all the same. It'll be nice to have someone there to sit with that he knows, rather than feeling lost in a sea of strangers or hovering around his friends, like he's prone to do at such functions.

"Awesome!" She chirps, sparkle returning to her diamond eyes. "I'm sending an email _right now_!" She snatched her phone from the floor and began typing in a flourish. "Aaaaand done! We're going to sit with Robin and Bruce and Agents Catsuit and OMG-Your-Arms-Are-Ridiculous. Like, seriously, though..." Her voice trails off and her eyes dart over every inch of the room. "Have you seen Robin Hood's arms?" She all but whispers. "Like, I'm not shy or anything and I _definitely_ let my appreciation for man candy be known, but... Yeah, the red head, she scares me and I can scratch and claw and hair pull with the best of them, I can even throw down one hell of a bitch slap, but taking on an assassin? Yeah... I'm reckless and I do crazy stuff, but I'm not stupid, you know? Also, I totes don't have a death wish. I'm waaaaaay too young and pretty to die. Especially with someone's thighs around my neck."

Steve blinks, not really sure how to respond. Instead, even though he knows he shouldn't, he can't help but ask. "Do you..." He taps the spine of his book absently. "Are, um, Clint and Natasha... Together?"

Gossiping is rude and he shouldn't encourage it, but it seems that if anyone would know it would be Maxie. She was the one who helped Tony arrange for Phil to see his cellist in Portland. She also tried to set up Agents Hill and Sitwell, which didn't work out so well, but it was the thought that counted... or at least he thought so.

"You know how it is," She mused absently, going back to sorting through Tony's mail.

"Not really." He admitted, if he knew he wouldn't have asked.

"What do you mean not really?" She arches a pointed brow, cupid's bow lips twisting into a frown. "They're, you know..." She trails off, waggling her eyebrows for emphasis, but he's just more confused. "OMG!" She breathes. "You _really_ don't know, do you?! But, like, how is that possible? Fuck-Buddies have been around since, like, _forever_!"

Steve feels as though his eyes bug out of his head when she says _that_ word. It must look like it too because a uncharacteristic blush creeps into the sharp angles of Maxie's high cheekbones. He still hasn't gotten used to the casual prevalence of profanity in modern culture. He can swear with the best of them, of course – he _was_ in the army – but he usually needs a very good reason to drop the f-bomb. Now – if Tony's any indication to go by – it's used as more of an adjective.

"No, I, um actually don't know about _that_." He says, reluctant to hear more.

"Weird." She mutters under her breath. "Anyway... It's just, you know, two people having casual sex. Like, they only sleep with each other but they're not a couple. Sometimes it's called friends with benefits. You know like that surprisingly good romantic comedy with Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis? Which was waaaaaay better than the one with Natalie Portman and Ashton Kutcher. So that's totes what scary assassin lady and archer dude do with each other. It's so obvious. Not that I'd ever say that in front of them. I like my body parts where they're supposed to be."

* * *

Later that day when Steve's back in his own [now blessedly quiet] room, he can't help but admit that Maxie was right. And by extension so was Tony. Neither was wrong about him never bringing a date to the awards dinners and functions the Avengers always went to.

He's self-aware enough to realize it's quickly becoming an issue. If it isn't already.

It's not like he has any shortage of options – people, both male and female [surprisingly], are not shy about letting him know they're interested, but for a long time after he woke up he was still in mourning. What he had with Peggy – however brief – wasn't in the distant past for him like it was for everyone around him; it was yesterday, last week, two months ago. At the time it was hard not to feel trapped between two different worlds, the past he so desperately wanted to get back to and the future he was struggling to join, and sometimes it seemed like he was never going to figure out how to build that bridge.

He's a ninety-five-year-old war hero [chronologically speaking], an Avenger, and he's never done anything more than kiss a woman. The idea of admitting that to anyone is too embarrassing to even consider, so he's been steadfast in avoiding it, but the longer he avoids it, the more time passes and the more embarrassing it gets.

He's going to die a virgin if he doesn't figure out a way to face it.

Which is more than a whole lot of leaps to take from going on a non-date with Maxie, so he decides to think about something else... anything else.


	3. Chapter 3

**~*~i'd trade my soul for a wish, pennies and dimes for a kiss~*~**

**(i wasn't looking for this, but now you're in my way)**

**pairing: maxie jones/steve rogers**

**fandoms: general hospital/the avengers**

**challenge: call me maybe – carly rae jepsen**

**part three of five -**

Since he and Maxie agreed to go on their non-date, things have changed, Steve can't help but notice.

Not in a bad way, but a decidedly _good_ way.

They talk a lot more, sit next to each other on pancake day [he even convinces her to eat some, insisting with a blush staining his cheeks that she doesn't need to worry about them going straight to her hips], she teaches him about texting when she notices him fumbling with his cell phone, laughing brightly and shaking her head – curls bouncing – and declaring him hopeless and, _"here, gimme; cause you need to stop or I'm going to cry,"_ and giving him fashion advice, "_noooooo_, _please, please no more plaid, no more; at least try a henley and a pair of jeans_,** seriously** _it won't kill you_ ," and through all of this, he's back to noticing – not that he _ever forgot_ – just how beautiful she is.

He really likes the talking and how she just bounds up to him – this tiny ball of energy with rambling tangents, waving hands, abbreviations and references he doesn't understand – all dressed in tight fitting pencil skirts, stockings with seams going up the back, dangerously spiked high heels that still have her barely reaching his chest, heady perfume and treating him like he's a normal person. Not that she knows he's _really_ a ninety-five-year-old war hero who was cryogenically frozen and just recently thawed after being thought dead for over seventy years.

Still, it's nice that she doesn't act star struck and over the top and insincere. She genuinely listens, teases, flirts [because it's in her DNA, as she says] and smiles and makes him feel like he's _finally_ adapting to this new century. It's almost as if he's forging the same kind of friendship with her that he had with Bucky way back when. And the two aren't all that different, honestly. They're brash, overwhelming, unafraid, daring, and great at pushing him out of his comfort zone.

He has a feeling that Bucky – when he wasn't flirting with her himself [of course] – would be encouraging him every five seconds to bring her home.

* * *

One day he's sitting in the sun room and he hears the familiar staccato clack-clack-clack of heels crossing the smooth tile. His heart leaps, but he reminds himself that there's a 50/50 chance it could be Miss Potts and _not_ Maxie. He can't help the smile that smooths over his lips when it's not the tall, thin redhead he sees, but the tiny platinum haired blonde instead.

She's not wearing her usual blouse and tight fitting pencil skirt, instead she's in jeans that look so tight they can't possibly be comfortable [at least in his estimation], an off the shoulder sweater that reveals just a hint of her shapely collarbone and her curls are tucked beneath a navy beret. Her skin's slightly flushed from the sudden dip in temperature that says fall is fast approaching and he swallows; she's beautiful and he has that itch in his fingers to draw... _her._

"I know, _I know,_ okay," She starts as if they've already been having a conversation when they hadn't. "Snooping around, it's bad. Robin tells me all the time. I get it." She rolls her eyes. "But," Her whole face suddenly becomes bright, diamond eyes sparkling and very pretty smile tilting at her cupid's bow lips. "Sometimes you have to make an exception, am I right Captain Hottie?"

Without preamble she sashays into the room, and he's distracted by the rhythmic sway of her hips until he becomes distracted by the familiar heady scent of her perfume since she's _suddenly_ sitting right next to him. "Soooooo when I was going through Tony's closet – **OMG!** he actually planned on wearing the maroon Dolce suit he wore to some big charity thing in Malibu last year to the big Met blow out thing, can you believe it? I thought I died. Seriously. ANYWAY... I was going through his closet, right? And guess what I found? This!"

Suddenly a book was thrust into his lap. It was old, the leather bound spine cracking, the pages inside were yellowed from what he could see and when he looked down he saw _The Howling Commandos_ in faded script stretching across the cover. It was a book of his old platoon.

"I hope you're not, like, mad at me." She murmured, looking more demure than he'd ever seen her. "I should've just stuffed it back in the box, but then Tony came in and he saw it and he just plucked it out of my hands and started talking, _actually_ it was more like rambling, but whatever. He got all emo about his Dad and shoved it back at me and said I should give it to you. Well..." A hint of a smirk came to her lips. "What he _really_ said was,** 'Tinker Belle, I never want to see that fucking book again. Get it the hell out. Burn it, rip it up, I don't care. Or, you know, since you two are playmates now, give it to, Spangles. He'll get more use out of it than I will. If you don't do something with it, you're fired. Cousin to Bruce's Tweety Bird or not.'**"

"Did you look at it?" Steve's voice is uncharacteristically soft, his baby blues a darker shade and somewhat haunted.

"For someone who lies a lot, I'm not really the best at it, so I'll just say yes. You're," Her eyes are wide and her voice is tinged with a mixture of awe and curiosity. "Like, _really_, ninety something years old? Like, seriously? Cause, um, lemme tell you, Captain Hottie, you don't look a day over twenty three."

The giggle she lets out, eases the tension and makes him smile. "You can call me Steve, Maxie."

Her lips twist into a frown. "Yeah, I guess I could, but Captain Hottie sounds _waaaaay_ better. Though, I should probably trademark it before all the twelve year olds on tumblr totes steal it from me."

_"Tumblr?_" He questions, head titled in confusion and she can't help but liken him to a puppy.

"Trust me," Her tone is wry. "You don't want to know. Your mind would be, like, blown to smithereens if you ever found out about tumblr. But, hey, at least you're getting better at texting! Which, you know, _now_ it all makes sense; you sucking at texting, dressing like a Grandpa, still parting your hair to the side, opening doors for me and Natasha and Robin and Pepper, all that old school gentlemen stuff, like the stuff Paul Varjak did for Holly Golightly in _Breakfast At Tiffany's_. It must be really crazy for you, huh?" Her voice is soft and she leans over just a little, her fingers trailing over his knuckles, sending little sparks shooting through him.

"It's not so bad anymore." He admits, flushing from how close she is.

"So... What was it like back then?" Her eyes are bright with wonder. "Seriously, I want to know! History was always _waaaaay_ boring in, like, high school, but these guys - " She taps the book and he instantly misses her fingers trailing over his knuckles. "Seemed like a riot! Especially the guy with the crazy mustache named 'Dum Dum.' Is that where the little suckers came from? Did he invent those or something?"

Steve laughs; unsure of what little suckers Maxie is talking about, but fairly confident that his old buddy Dugan was not responsible for their invention. With a smile and a lightness in his heart, he didn't think he'd be capable of having when talking about the past, he tells her about the stories behind each yellowed page and faded photograph.

It all ends with her head pillowed on his shoulder, soft murmurs of slumber echoing around him and her tucked in close underneath his large arm.

Then before she wakes up, he reaches for his sketchpad on the coffee table and draws her; just like that, asleep the fans of her thick lashes resting gingerly on the planes of her high cheekbones, mouth open just so and bangs falling across her forehead.

* * *

It was a few days before the awards ceremony at the Metropolitan Museum of Art when Tony – without knocking, of course – makes his way into Steve's bedroom with his usual flare. "Chop-Chop, Spangles," He snaps at him. "We've got jewelry to buy and I don't have time to waste. The work of a genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist is never done, you know."

"Jewelry?" Steve questions, brows pinching together.

"**Yes, jewelry**." Tony repeats, barely glancing up from his phone before shoving it into his pocket. He's wearing one of his expensive suits, but without a tie and for some reason, sunglasses even though he's inside the tower.

"Why are we buying jewelry?"

"Ugh. You _really_ are ninety-five years old, aren't you? Keep up, Rip Van Winkle. You and my pint-sized assistant Tinker Belle are going to the Avengers love fest at the Met, and you can't _just_ show up on her doorstep without a very expensive trinket. She may have a Ramen budget – despite what I'm paying her – but she, like, every girl in the big city not named Pepper lives above her means. You have seen her outfits, haven't you? Anyway," Tony waved his hand dismissively. "That's why we're going on a little field trip to Tiffany's. I don't know why," He smirked. "But I have this _feeling_ that, you, Fourth of July couldn't find your way through a high end jewelry store unless you were trying to rescue a basket of kittens or help an old lady cross the street. Now, let's roll. I'm a very busy man, so chop-chop."

Steve doesn't know how Tony knows about his and Maxie's non-date to the awards ceremony at the Met, so he just stares blankly, not exactly sure what he can say.

"Did I miss something?" Tony pulls down his sunglasses, staring at Steve pointedly. "You _are_ going with Tink, _aren't_ you?" He's speaking slowly as if Steve is three years old.

"Y-yes." Steve says with less confidence than he intended. "But," He's quick to reiterate. "It's _not_ a date. We're just going to be there together, in the same place. That's all." The distinction seemed very important to Maxie, so he wanted to make sure Tony was aware.

"Uh-uh." Tony clicked his tongue. "You're just going to be together in the same place. And I _didn't _try to moon the Queen of England three years ago." He pushed his sunglasses back up and began walking toward the door of Steve's room. "So I have it on good authority – or should I say straight from the little pixie's mouth – that she'll be wearing a periwinkle Balenciaga gown and the white Loubition pumps I bought her, and other than some diamond studs she _'borrowed'_," He used his fingers to make quotations. "From her old boss Kate Howard, she has no expensive jewelry, now let's roll. Oh and don't forget to bring your wallet. I like the little pixie, but not enough to buy her jewelry. That's _all_ on you, Gramps."

* * *

The night of the awards ceremony at the Metropolitan Museum, Steve puts on his Captain's uniform with _more_ than a little anticipation than he would normally. He takes even more time with the buttons and the medals and the way his shirt is tucked underneath the jacket. He combs his hair [neater than usual, if it's possible] and checks his shoes for the slightest speck of dust, and then he carefully retrieves the small robin's egg blue box with the satin white ribbon from his dresser drawer.

Inside is the necklace; a sterling silver charm hanging from the end shaped like a lollipop, complete with robin's egg blue swirls amongst the sterling silver.

When he saw it in the case, he immediately thought of Maxie; it was bright, unique and playful, just like she was. He only hoped he had made the right decision. This was his first time picking out jewelry for a woman, after all. And, of course, it's not like Tony had been much of a help. Not that he had expected him to.

More nervous than the situation [definitely] warrants, he combs his hair again and shakes his head, telling himself to stop being ridiculous and leave already.

Because of the event, Maxie spent the night inside one of the tower's many spare bedrooms. It's just down the hall from his, so his long strides easily eat up the short distance and he waits outside the red door, trying not to fidget with the necklace box too much and reminding himself to breathe. He's sucking in a ragged breath, almost as if his lungs were weak and small, like they were once upon a time and his breathing – somehow – becomes even _less_ steady when the door opens and there's Maxie in her dress, holding a tiny sparkling white purse.

She didn't expect him to be there because her large eyes grow just a little wider than their natural shape, but there's her pretty smile [the one he can't get out of his head] tilting her perfect cupid's bow lips and his heart quickens as she says, "Oh, hey! You're here!"

He wonders if he's early and wants to ask if he should come back in a few minutes, but his brain can't seem to get his mouth to move. Her dress, which is a beautiful periwinkle, enhances the diamond shade of her eyes – like most of her clothing seems to be – is tight, hugging her like a second layer of skin, almost. The neckline plunges low, revealing all of her neck and a hint of cleavage, and he's struggling to look her in the eye.

Swallowing thickly, he manages to bring his eyes back to her face [where they should be] and whatever breath is inside his lungs, is gone. Her hair's in curls, framing her face and the shape of the bouncy platinum locks reminds him of the 'victory rolls' he'd seen the women wearing in pictures from when the war had finally ended. Her lips – with their perfect cupid's bow shape – are lush and inviting, painted a pale pink with gloss and suddenly the deep red lipstick women preferred in his day, vanishes from his mind.

The earrings Tony mentioned – the small diamond studs – are in her ears, along with the silver bar he's noticed pierced into the shell of her right ear, something he never guessed he'd find attractive, but that probably has to do with her more than the piece of jewelry itself, but her neck is bare. He's pleased, for more than one reason, to see that.

"You look really beautiful." He says without meaning to. He's not exactly sure if compliments are allowed on non-dates, but the words spill from his mouth without permission.

The milky planes of her high cheekbones flush and she looks shyer than he's ever seen her. Her eyes are half-lidded, almost completely hidden by the thick fans of her long lashes and the softest smile he's ever seen her wear crosses the seam of her perfect cupid's bow lips.

"Thanks." She murmurs, but bounces back quick; lips quirking salaciously and eyes darkening to a sapphire as she drinks him in, making his body temperature rise. "You," She steps into his space, heady perfume reaching his nose and he can't stop himself from breathing it in. "Look better than any man has any right to in, ugh," Her little nose scrunches and he has to fight the urge to laugh. "In such a drab color like muddy green or whatever you call it."

He doesn't say thank you, instead he [basically] thrusts the small box at her and says, "I got you this."

Her eyes widen at the sight of the robin's egg blue box and she clutches at her chest, gasp escaping her. "OMG! Tiffany's! You got me something from Tiffany's! Seriously," Her eyes go from wide to narrowed in an instant. "Even though I'd be a disaster of a Mom, I am soooo calling dibs on having your out-of-this-world-OMG-my-ovaries-just-exploded-hot babies, okay, Captain Hottie? Because next to replacing Nina Garcia – she's, ugh, so awful – on _Project Runway_, the top thing on my bucket list is having a piece of jewelry from Tiffany's. You, like, made my life! Eeeeek!"

After she practically rips the satin ribbon off of the box and the necklace is revealed, their eyes lock; diamond on baby blue and Steve's breath catches in his throat. For a moment, he suddenly sees her like he's never seen her before, not as bright, bouncy, unabashed, hands waving in every direction, Maxie who's always around the tower running after Tony, but as someone else, as someone who is both strange and familiar, but most importantly as someone he'd like to know better.

He looks back down at the necklace box and hopes none of those emotions show.

She _loves_ the necklace, tracing the swirls of the charm, almost reverently – like a little girl who's never seen jewelry up close before [he'll never forget how she looks], and he's very proud of the job he did in choosing it. When she turns around so he can put the necklace on her, he fumbles slightly; distracted by the nape of her neck, it's pale and soft, like silk playing at the rough pads of his fingers.

He's never been this close to her – or anyone woman – before, and for the first time he can _really_ smell the heady scent of her perfume, to the point that he can identify it; the warmth of amber fills his nose, and he can't help but wonder if every inch of her skin smells just like the tempting curve of her neck.

He manages to get the necklace on her, only fumbling the clasp a little – it's so tiny – and finally he settles the chain against her neck, smoothing it lightly with his fingertip and he has the almost overwhelming urge to kiss her _there_, to press his mouth to her silky skin and breathe in her gorgeous smell for as long as the moment lasts.

He has to take a step back or he just might act on the desperate urge. "All done."


	4. Chapter 4

**~*~i'd trade my soul for a wish, pennies and dimes for a kiss~*~  
(i wasn't looking for this, but now you're in my way)  
pairing: maxie jones/steve rogers  
fandoms: general hospital/the avengers**

**part four of five**

The awards ceremony at the Metropolitan Museum goes smoothly. Nothing really exciting happens, as per usual at these events, but Steve found that he had a better time than _ever_ had at any one of these than before. Usually it's only Tony who's enjoying himself; schmoozing, booze and very expensive food is just another day for him.

For the rest of them, that's not the case.

Bruce, because of Robin _and_ Tony, has become more comfortable; he's not constantly shifting in his seat and his eyes aren't darting around to find the nearest exits. Though, he still seems unsure about being around this many people and the noise and energy. Robin, however, soothes his frantic edges; gently caressing the top of his hand, whispering in his ear, smiling softly, kissing his neck and assuring him.

Steve's heart can't help but warm at the sight. Bruce deserves happiness after being so alone for so long, distancing himself purposefully from humanity and it's like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders; courtesy of the combination of Tony's zero respect for boundaries and Robin's easy warmth and big heart and soft smile.

"They are," Maxie's voice cuts through Steve's thoughts. "Nauseatingly cute, aren't they?"

"_Nauseatingly cute_?" Steve questions, brows furrowing.

"Yeah, you know? So cute, it's disgusting. Like, if I didn't love Robin so much and want her to be so ridiculously happy all the time, I'd punch them both in the face. But honestly," She remarks. "If they don't stop it with the cuteness, I might just go ahead and punch them in the face, anyway."

"But you won't _actually_ punch either one of them, will you? I don't know about Robin, but punching Bruce is not a wise decision."

"_Please_. Like, I'd ruin my manicure by punching anyone, _ever_. I'm more of a bitch slap, hair pulling and scratching type. Which is a good thing we're _not_ on a date, because – um – I don't know if you've noticed, but almost every girl in here and some of the guys, too, are looking at you like you're the biggest ice cream sundae, ever."

"No, they're not." Steve's cheeks flamed bright red and Maxie giggled. "STOP IT! You're, like, too freaking cute! I don't know what to do with you. Like, should I pinch your cheeks, ruffle your hair or full-on molest your mouth? How are you so out-of-this-world-OMG-my-ovaries-just-exploded-hot _and_ as cute as a basket of kitties and puppies at the same time? That's, like, impossible! Not even Ryan Gosling can pull that off."

"Am I supposed to know who that is?"

"Just stop, okay? Just stop. I haven't had enough champagne to deal with the fact that you don't know who Ryan Gosling is. Actually I don't think there's enough champagne in the world for me to deal with that."

"I'm sorry?"

"Don't worry about it." Maxie waved her hand. "At some point, we'll watch _Crazy, Stupid, Love_ and then _Drive_ and _The Notebook_ and _Blue Valentine_ and maybe – if I really feel like it – I'll break out _Murder By Numbers_. But for now, let's go check out the dessert table. There's raspberry tarts, little glasses of chocolate mousse layered with white chocolate shavings and cupcakes that look like you, and they're all calling my name."

"Cupcakes that look like me?" Steve titled his head in confusion.

"Not like you _right now_, but you when you're in that skin-tight spangly spandex outfit. You know the one that looks like the American Flag? And _totally_ shows off all that muscle, you seem to be fond of hiding underneath Old McDonald's rejected shirts and**ewwwww**," Her nose scrunched. "Pleated pants. Honestly, Captain Hottie," She shook her head gravely. "If that skin-tight spandex outfit is anything to go by, you should_never, ever_ wear clothes."

"I'm not sure the authorities would be fond of that." The flame of his cheeks was reignited.

"Maybe not the authorities," She smirked, waggling her eyebrows. "But _I_ sure would be."

At the end of the night, after the speeches and they all start piling out of the museum, Tony declares – for reasons Steve can't possibly understand – that he's _not_ drunk enough yet. So they all pile onto the tower's large balcony, still in their dressy clothes, where Tony starts pouring drinks for everyone; they're named "Kamikaze" and "Liquid Death."

Everyone but Steve [duh] gets noticeably tipsy, Thor sings Asgardian drinking songs, Clint calls on JARVIS to 'play some tunes, badass ones, but no _**'Shoot To Thrill'**__, we hear that enough'_ and the girls all toe off their high heels, leaving them barefoot, and Steve kisses Maxie.

The kiss doesn't _actually_ happen in front of everyone on the balcony [of course not] or even right away. At first, he makes a concerted effort to stay away from her; the award ceremony is over, which means their non-date is over [doesn't it?], but once everyone has a drink in their hand, she sits next to him on the bench he's occupying and offers him a taste of hers; she chose 'Liquid Death.'

And to Steve, that's exactly, what the midnight purple drink tastes like. She laughs, bright and chimey, at the look of disgust on his face.

"_Uggggh_," Maxie groans, dropping her head onto Steve's shoulder. "The price of beauty," She bends forward and the sight of her back arched makes Steve lose whatever breath is inside his lungs. "Is a high one." She produces her high heels, which seem _even more_ dangerously high than usual. "But they're just soooo **hello, lover**," She drops her voice to a husky tone and shimmies her shoulders, being so effortlessly seductive, he feels his veins buzz. "As Carrie Bradshaw once said to a beautiful pair of bright pink floral six inch Manolos. Tony," There's a warmth in her tone, bordering almost affectionate. "_Definitely_ knows his shoes."

"Those," Steve leans forward, finger sliding down the very pointy and small heel of the right shoe. "Don't seem comfortable at all."

"The point isn't for them to be comfortable." Maxie says it, like it should be obvious. "The point is that they're to _die for and oh so gorgeous_. And that when I make it to six months of being Tony's assistant, I get an entire shoe rack full of these precious, precious babies."

She stretches and her back arches once more, and Steve swallows thickly. She finishes her drink and leans on the far end of the bench, her feet finding their way into his lap and like he has her permission, he starts to rub her toes.

"_Ooooh_." She moans. "Don't stop. That feels _soooo_ good."

As his fingers make their way up to the swell of her ankle, she's _practically_ purring and his stomach does a flip at the delicious sound. Whatever everyone else is doing, he doesn't know, he's only paying attention to her and the way her skin feels against his fingers, so silky and flawless and the little sounds that are escaping her parted lips that shimmer underneath the lights of the tower's balcony.

Then one by one, the couples – starting with Bruce and Robin – being making their way back inside.

Once Tony announces his plans – **very loudly** – to _'rock Pepper's world'_ and the heavy drum beat and guitar riff, Steve's come to recognize as Iron Man's theme music, blasts from the speakers, Maxie darts up and says, "Come on, Captain Hottie. We are _so_getting out of here. The last thing I want to see is my boss sexing up his girlfriend. Especially since he or Robin's boy-toy haven't invented brain bleach yet."

Being the gentleman that he is, Steve walks Maxie to her room at the tower.

When they get to the red door, she turns and hugs him. "Thanks for tonight..." He thinks she's going to call him 'Captain Hottie' [like always], but instead she murmurs his name, "_Steve,"_ into his chest and his stomach flips.

She's so much shorter than him, even in her dangerously spiked shoes with their tiny heels that don't seem very stable, in his opinion, but she fits – her body, all of its slight curves and feminine edges – very well against his hulking frame with its broad planes. He thinks he might be hugging her too hard as his arms wind around her back, fingers seemingly too interested in exploring the glittering fabric of her periwinkle dress.

It's almost like the lines of their friendship are blurring and he can't tell if he's crossing them or not anymore.

He doesn't plan to kiss her, but he's felt _this pull_ toward her all night, a pull he told himself that meant he was getting too invested in their non-date, and maybe he's not very good at going on non-dates and should probably make this his last.

She takes a step back, soft smile on the seam of her beautiful pale pink lips, but instead of turning to go, she's looking up at him and _suddenly_ it's as if he's on auto-pilot. He's not sure how his arms even get around her again, when he reached for her, but there they are; winding around the small expanse of her back and pulling her into his body. She leans in, _obviously_ able to see what's happening, lifting her beautiful face up to his, and it just... happens.

He bends his head and touches his mouth to hers, a kiss that's barely a kiss, and his brain is telling him **that's enough, you need to let go of her, stop,** but he doesn't. Her mouth opens underneath his, teasingly slow, and he can't deny that he's been waiting all night to do _this_ – feel her lips on his, finally taste her, be as close to her as he can – so he forgets about stopping himself.

He tentatively touches his tongue to hers, something that's just pure instinct because he's never _really_ kissed a woman before, and she responds instantly; the insistent heat of her mouth mixed with the taste of the alcohol she drank the raspberry from the dessert and something that's _just Maxie_ sending a tingle down his spine. He pulls her even closer, somehow, against him and he nearly groans when feels the soft curves of her pert breasts push into his chest and the delicate shape of her shoulder blade under his fingers. One of her hands slides up the back of his neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake and her fingers tug at his hair, demanding and urgent, which feels surprisingly nice.

All of Steve's prior experiences with kisses have been rushed and too far in between, so with Maxie he takes his time and makes it count, holding her tightly against him and coaxing her mouth open just a little wider. The kiss gets deeper and hungrier and he feels like his whole body is lighting up, ready for more, so much more.

She breaks the kiss first; slowing it down, turning it back into something light and teasing, her teeth nipping at his bottom lip and then her tongue soothing over the flesh. Even though he'd like to do this much longer, he follows her lead. When he opens his eyes, she's smiling up at him, all teasing and bright but with this hint of a secret lying amongst her now swollen and slightly darker shade of pink cupid's bow lips, like this – the kiss – and the moment are things only they share.

He likes that feeling. The feeling of having something only they know about, that no one else does.

"I guess... Um, I wasn't supposed to do that." He says after clearing his throat. Except he's not sorry and his arms are still wrapped around her.

"Oh, yeah?" She murmurs, hands skimming along his chest to tease the back of his neck. "Who says you weren't?"

"Well...Um, this isn't... We're not really on a date." Though, he might as well admit to himself, up to this point that he wishes they were.

"What does really not being on a date have to do with you kissing me?" She arches a perfectly plucked brow. "The two aren't mutually exclusive, you know? People on non-dates kiss _aaaaalll_," She elongates the word, something he thinks is just unique to her. "The time. Seriously, they do. And, you know..." Her voice drops, becoming seductive and mysterious, this husky tone that has his head swimming. Or maybe that's the feel of her nails lightly teasing the hair at the back of his neck and then sliding down to touch his shoulder blades. Either way he's light-headed. "What else people on non-dates do all the time?" She raises herself to her tip toes, tempting lips barely an inch away from his ear, the heat of her breath making his veins buzz with electricity.

"N-no?" He sputters, gold-spun lashes fluttering as he struggles to keep his brain from shorting out.

"They, you know," There's a hint of a tease to her voice and through the thick haze that's settled over him, he figures he's supposed to understand what she's implying, but he doesn't. "No, I don't know." He manages to get out.

"_You know_." She emphasizes, biting down on the shell of his ear, making him groan. When he doesn't answer, she sighs, sounding a little off-put, but the husky, seductive tone is back in her voice when she murmurs into his ear, "People on non-dates also have sex. _Really amazing, hot sex_. And there's no reason why we can't be those people; the people on non-dates that have sex. We're both single and ridiculously pretty, so why not?"

Steve swallows thickly, for reasons that have nothing to do with the lust that's filling up his body and making him feel hotter than he ever has. He's glad Maxie can't see his face, that it's buried against the beautiful curve of her neck, because he's sure shock is written all over his features. He gives himself a second to recover, to think carefully about his response, because confusion is all that he feels in this moment. But there's also this feeling, this thrill he can feel unfurling along his spine, settling into his bones about the prospect of being with her, of seeing her in a way he's never seen a woman before, a way he's _desperately_ been wanting to see her for a long time, if he's being honest with himself.

"Okay." The stumbles from his lips impulsively. "B-but," He pulls back, staring into her dark sapphire eyes, the irises no longer the sparkling diamond shade he's used to. "I d-don't just want this," He blushes deeply. "To be a one time thing. I c-can't do that. It doesn't seem right. Or fair to you."

"You're, like, _seriously_ too freaking precious." She huffs out a giggle. "Seriously, you are. Like, how are you real?" There's a hint of awe in her tone, like she can't believe a man would want something more than a one night stand. His stomach drops and he can't help but wonder why she feels that way and if she's been treated badly by men before and why a man would ever treat her without respect.

"Sooooo," Through the dark sapphire of her irises, teasing flashes. "Are you offering to be my fuck-buddy? Cause that's what it sounds like to me. But I just need you to be sure that's why you're doing. Seriously, nothing kills the offer of continuous really hot, sweaty, amazing sex like mixed signals."

"C-can we..." He swallows thickly, blush spreading down his neck. "Not call it... _that_. Please."

"At the risk of repeating myself," She says dryly. "You're seriously too freaking precious, OMG. ANYWAY... Hmmmm," She pauses, tapping her chin with her finger. "If we're not going to be fuck-buddies... What the hell are we going to be? FWBs is soooo early 2000s, so that's out. How about... _oooh_! Combining words is still the hot thing to do, so how about fuddies?! It's genius, I know, you don't have to tell me."

"That's a little better." He concedes. It's not the greatest word, but it's better than the alternative.

"Awesome. Now, let's shake on it." She muses and he sees the mischievous glint in her eye. He's not stupid, so he kisses her again; now that he's started he can't seem to stop. This time there's a lot more heat in the kiss, maybe because they both know this – the kissing – is going somewhere.

"Uh...Can you say _best handshake, ever_?" She says fuzzily when they come up for air.

"Soooooo," Her fingers comb through his hair, sending delicious sparks of pleasure through him. "Come over to my place tomorrow, okay? I'll text you the address. Since, you know, you're a texting pro now. Later, Cap..."

She stops herself, turning over her shoulder to look at him and in that moment with her slightly messy curls and the dress, she looks like the picture perfect modern version of Jean Harlow and he swallows thickly, the lust coming to flame inside of him once more.

"_Steve_." His name is breathless on her tongue and he has a feeling, he'll _never_ get that sound – her saying his name like _that_ – out of his head.


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Note: This chapter contains adult content. You've been warned._

**~*~i'd trade my soul for a wish, pennies and dimes for a kiss~*~  
(i wasn't looking for this, but now you're in my way)  
pairing: maxie jones/steve rogers  
fandoms: general hospital/the avengers**

part five of five

The next day when Steve's phone chimes from the text Maxie said she wound send, he wishes he could turn to his left and find Bucky's familiar hunter green eyes staring back at him. This isn't the first time – since waking up in another century – that he's longed for his best friend to be back by his side, in the empty space no one else has been able to and will ever fill.

He has a feeling that Bucky would know what to do, because he sure as hell doesn't.

He almost wants to text Maxie back and tell her he doesn't think this – them being "fuddies" - is a good idea, but he doesn't. He just wishes this – sex, women, all of it – would be easier for him to get a grip on.

He can't help but think about how easy _this_ would be for Bucky, how he would just instinctively know what to do. Then again, _everything_ about women and sex, came easily for his best friend.

Sighing, he looks at the text again; it's simple, just her address and what time she wants him to be there, there's no flirty innuendo... But there is what looks to be a winking face attached after the time, not that he knows what it means, but it's there and he wishes Bucky was. Even in this century, he's _sure_ his best friend would understand the hidden meaning of a woman sending him a text with a winking face at the end.

He starts to type, almost thinking he'll type that _this whole fuddies thing isn't really a good idea_, but instead his fingers text the words; **Thanks, see you soon**. There's no winking face attached at the end.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Steve changes his mind at least a hundred times before he actually leaves the tower. He also changes it twice between the bottom of the staircase and once he's reached the top. But once he's standing in front of her door – marked by the copper 2B on the side – he knocks, and after waiting a few moments, the door opens and there she is.

Some – but not all – of his nervousness subsides when he sees Maxie standing there; there's a hint of nervousness in her eyes, which makes the knots in his stomach loosen, if only a little. She's dressed as casually as he's ever seen her; an oversized sweater – especially on her slight, petite frame – ripped jeans, that might be new or they could be old [modern fashion makes Steve unsure] and her feet are bare, glittering pink toes on display and her left big toe gleams with a ring around it.

Her hair is lightly mussed, the curls not in perfectly tight spirals anymore, like it was last night when he kissed her. He likes her hair like that and he has to quell the urge in his fingers to reach out and touch the smooth, honey scented strands.

He almost says or feels like he just might say, "_I don't think we should do this,"_ or something equally as stupid, but a seductive smile takes over the seam of her perfect cupid's bow lips and she reaches out, tugging him inside by the front of his leather bomber jacket. He's barely through the door, when she kisses him – _intense and full of heat and promise_ – on the mouth, and he suddenly remembers why he even considered going down this road with her.

"Hi, Maxie," He says against the corner of her mouth, a little surprised that his voice sounds mostly normal, even though his heart feels like it's beating at a ridiculous speed.

"Hi." She says breathlessly before giving him another kiss, this one not as insistent but more languid and slow, her tongue running along his bottom lip until his mouth opens for her.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

There's a lot of touching and kissing and exploring until they finally make their way into her bedroom.

He's at the foot of her bed and she's sitting in his lap, legs splayed out over his thighs, milky skin flushed with the perfect shade of pink and lips bruised and swollen, her eyes are half-lidded and gleaming dark sapphires, and he wishes he had his sketchpad and charcoal with him; she's unbelievably beautiful, like a rendering that should be hanging along side Monet or Rembrandt in a museum.

"I was totally afraid," She breathes out in between kisses. "That you were going to change your mind," and he must look guilty, when they break apart, because her eyes go wide and she slams her hand into his chest, "**OH! MY! GOD!** You _soooooo_ were going to back out!"

"I... I'm not backing out," And honestly he's never meant something _more_ in his entire life. Now that he's here and she's in his lap, it would taken an army of invading aliens to pry him away from her. Which, of course, for him is always a possibility, so he hopes no angry Gods of mischief or crazy mutants or psycho scientists try to take over the world for at least the next four or five hours.

"You better not." She teases, lightly nipping at the hard hinge of his jaw until he tips his head back and then she leaves a line of hot, sucking kisses along the stern tendon of his neck. "Definitely _not_ backing out," He chokes out. "Um. Oh... That's..."

The heat of her breath on his wet skin sends shivers through him. She uses her hand on his cheek to turn his face until their mouths meet again and whatever response Steve might have made gets lost in the kiss and the kiss after that and all the kisses that seem to blend together in one long blur of her mouth – so soft and warm and tart, tasting of a burst of berries – on his and her hands in his hair.

Just as he's about to tease her mouth – running his tongue along the flesh of her bottom lip, like she had done to him earlier – her hands leave his hair and are pressed firmly into his chest. "Wait." Her voice is urgent, and he goes completely still, like he's back in the barracks and Colonel Phillips is going through drills.

"I can't believe I forgot that you don't know the first thing about being fuck... I mean**fuddies**," She says in a rush, cheeks flushing. "Anyway... Um, there are rules and stuff – you know – to make sure, this," She motions between them. "Doesn't get, like, messy and become full of drama and craziness, you know? Cause _that's_ not what's supposed to happen. This is supposed to be fun and casual and just two ridiculously pretty people having uncomplicated amazingly hot, sweaty sex, like, a lot. Sooooo... rule number one," She says, voice oddly serious. "_Always, always_ use a condom. Like, _**always**_**." **She stresses and Steve nods; he doesn't have a problem with that and doesn't understand why anyone would.

"Rule number two..." She holds up to fingers, looking oddly like Tony when he flashes the peace sign, his signature [apparently] at every function and press conference. "No spending the night."

That brings him up short. He hadn't realized that – spending the night – wouldn't be allowed. He nods, anyway, even though he's a [lot] little disappointed. He's never spent the night with a woman [obviously], but that doesn't mean he hasn't thought the idea appealing or wanted to experience it.

"Third rule... No one can know and I mean no one." Steve nods vigorously, and he's on board with that rule 100%. He's not very comfortable with the idea of anyone knowing something so private about him, like whom he's taking to bed. He's not Tony; he doesn't want his life – his personal life – to be splashed over every magazine and newspaper and on the internet.

"Ummmm," She pauses, obviously thinking. "_Oh_!" Her face brightens quickly. "No public displays of affection. You know all that nauseatingly cute stuff that Bruce and Robin do? Yeah, not us, Captain Hottie. We're fuddies, _not _boyfriend and girlfriend." She continues and rattles off the rest more quickly. "Anyone can pull the plug whenever, no long talks necessary, just do it – like ripping off a band aid, the quicker you do it, the better it is for everyone. No holiday gifts or birthday presents; that's boyfriend and girlfriend stuff. Always call or text before coming over, just showing up is not cool; I could be having a bad hair day or a fat ass day or Tony could be driving me crazy or, you know, my favorite tube of lipstick could be lost – it's just a lot of stuff can happen to make me not in the mood, you know what I mean? And then there's the big one... **No feelings**."

"Feelings?" He asks, taken aback. He _already_ has feelings for her. That's _why_ he's here.

"Yeah, you know, **romantic feelings**," She whispers the words, like they shouldn't be spoken aloud.

"Those are the worst. They make everything messy and weird and just, _ugh_, hard. I mean, yeah, Bruce and Robin make being all lovey-dovey look easy and even Tony and Pepper have their shit together – well, Pepper's got _hers __**and**__ his_ together – but that – what they all have – is rare. Everyone else; they just end up crashing and burning. This – what you and I are going to have – being fuddies, is _waaaaay_ easier and the _better_way to go. So you're cool with this, right? Like, you're not going to back out after I've told you all the rules, are you?"

There's a hint of worry inside her diamond eyes, one Steve can't help but respond to. He knows she wants him to interpret the worry as being afraid he's going to back out, but it's more than that; he knows it is. She's been hurt before, had her heart broken and probably broken more than her fair share, and all he wants is to cradle her face in his hands and tell her that he doesn't care; whatever happened to her before him, doesn't matter, but he doesn't.

He kisses her instead; it's easier and it's what she wants, and he can't bring himself to leave, not when he knows where this – what's brewing between them, the heat, the intensity of their kisses, their roaming hands – is going to lead, their clothes being shed, her skin on his and being with her in a way he's never been with another woman.

And that's too heady of a thought to wreck.

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~***

Before they go any further – when she's only straddling him in her bra – a very pretty pearl pink with lace and scalloped edges that dips low and pushes up her pert breasts so they're practically spilling forward, he knows he has to tell her.

"I- I need to tell you..." He starts and she quickly interrupts, "OMG! You've got webbed feet! Or six toes! Or OMG, are you like Steve, Miranda's husband from _Sex and the City_who only has one ball because you had cancer?! I mean, hey, I get it; nobody's perfect, least of all me, so how could you even be, but..."

"Maxie!" He doesn't mean to shout and the way she jumps, makes him instantly regretful. "All of that stuff... you said... that's not," He's fumbling, his cheeks flushing bright. "I don't have any of those afflictions. What I'm trying to say is that... I, um, I've never done _this_ before."

"Huh?" She blinks at him, mouth slightly open. "**Oh. My. God."** She breathes, realization creeping into her sharply round features. "You've never had sex before?! **Seriously?!**But..." She waves her hand at him, his upper body bare with his shirt having been tossed somewhere behind them. "You're _all_..." She reaches out, fingers following the definition of his collarbone then sweeping down to the dense muscle of his rippling pectorals, briefly digging into the firm skin and he shudders as her fingertips swirl each perfect square of his sculpted torso. "And I thought you being ninety-five years old was crazy." She murmurs. "But hey," Her voice is gentle, almost soothing as she brings her fingers back up, laying flat against the hinge of his jaw. "If you're not ready, I get it. Like, my first time," She snorts. "Was nothing to write home about, you know? And I get it, if you want to – you know – share this," Her cheeks flush and he swallows from how beautiful she looks, eyelashes fanning across her cheekbones, soft smile on her cupid's bow lips, being softer than he's ever seen. "With someone important. You know, like, a girlfriend and not... me who just wants..."

"Stop." He knows he's probably going to say too much, but he's nothing if not honest, so he just says it. "There isn't anyone else out there that I want but you, Maxie. Maybe that's saying too much, but it's true. I want you. In a way I've never wanted anyone."

"You know what? We're doing waaaay too much talking." She leans in close, grinding her hips against his and he groans. "Yeah," She murmurs, voice thick and seductive. "I figured you thought so too."

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~***

Her jeans come off along with his pants and there she is, just straddling him in nothing but her bra and panties; the peaks of her hard nipples peeking through the lace. Her skin is flushed – this beautiful rose colored tint – and her hair's in disarray, some curls still tight and others loose and tumbling; she's absolutely beautiful like this.

He feels like he'll _never_ be able to stop touching her and that he'll always see her this way; even when she's wearing clothes. But her – like this – will be burned into his brain, like a brand.

He's unsure how long the polite amount of time is before he can take off her bra, so he works around it for a bit, sitting up so he can kiss her neck and the hollow of her throat, dipping lower to the center of her chest where he can feel her heart pounding recklessly underneath his mouth. When he [finally] works the hooks of her bra loose and gently pushes the lace away, she's rolling her hips against him, insistent and demanding, her nails gripping the soft strands of his hair tight and dragging his head down to gently suck on her nipple.

Her breasts are as beautiful as the rest of her; pert and round, tipped by pretty pink nipples and unbelievably soft. Their shape fits the heft of his hands perfectly and he spends a few minutes concentrating on them; figuring out what makes her moan and toss her head back, revealing the beautiful column of her neck.

Her hands leave his hair, fingers trailing down the nape of his neck and then caressing the large expanse of his back, the muscles shifting underneath and she moans, "_Steeeeeve_," giving his name more letters and syllables, each one sending heat straight to his groin.

She pulls back and he tries not to sound disappointed. At least he does until he feels the feather light touch of her fingertips trailing down the front of his body. She explores his skin – tracing every ridge, dipping into every perfectly formed muscle – for longer than she did the first time and slowly, when she reaches the waistband of his boxer briefs, she tugs and then pulls them down until he kicks them off; leaving him bare.

They're skin on skin now; her milky complexion the perfect contrast to his golden tan. He feels like his heart stops when her fingertips trail along the hard length of him, it's a teasing touch that makes him shudder; no one's ever touched him there before.

This goes on – her touching him – until he literally can't take it anymore. Her hand's much too distracting, which makes him nudge her thighs apart so he can finally touch her. She obligingly reaches down and uses two fingers to spread herself open – just a little – for him, and the sight of her touching herself makes him feel like he's been hit in the head, right down to the ringing in his ears. He really likes that.

_A lot._

Most of his fevered imaginings involved a woman touching him or him touching a woman. He'd never thought to picture a woman touching herself, and in hindsight this seems like a [very] unfortunate lapse in judgment because... **Holy Smokes!**

"You still there, Captain Hottie?" Her teasing tone, hint of giggling in the background, brings him back. "Cause I really don't want to lose you before I get the chance to," Her eyes – half-lidded and dancing with lust – glance at his impressive length, seductive tilting smile on her lips. "_Blow your mind_, literally."

"I..." He starts, but stops, realizing he must look like a complete idiot; just sitting there, staring at her with his mouth gaping like a fish. "I'm still here." He husks out, wondering how he's even forming words, especially once she places his hand on the inside of her thigh, so silky and smooth. "Just what I wanted to hear." She murmurs. "Now, touch me."

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

With a steadying breath – because he's never seen a naked woman up close before – he runs his the pad of his thumb, making sure it doesn't shake, along the delicate fold of pink flesh and hears her suck in a breath as she pushes up to his touch. She's warm and wet, and not afraid to tell him what feels good as he explores her with his fingers. Once he has a lay of the land, he holds himself over her with a hand braced on the bed and kisses her as he touches her, and slowly slides two fingers up inside her, where she's even hotter and wetter and unbelievably soft.

She feels impossibly tight and small around his fingers as he works in and out of her body, and when his wrist bumps against her, she moans and says, "Yessss," so he changes the angle of his arm until she croons, "Right there."

Her hands dig into his broad shoulders, and she arches her back and bears down on the heel of his hand as he presses forward again and again. At the end, she gasps and shudders, and he feels her squeeze tightly around his fingers in a fast rhythm.

He had no idea _that_ would happen.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

They kiss for awhile as Maxie catches her breath, Steve trying not to push himself down into the soft skin of her stomach, until she bends forward, lips lingering along the square lines of his pectorals, tongue creeping out to lick his pink nipple, making him shudder and asks softly, "Ready?"

He knows what she's asking if he's ready for, and he really, really is, but he kind of had other plans. "Can I- I," He swallows, taking another steadying breath. "With my mouth?" He's been looking forward to it before, and is even more so now.

"We've got all the time in the world. Right now," Her voice is thick with lust as she reaches on her bedside table for a box of condoms. "I need you." Hearing her say those words – _I need you_ – has his veins buzzing with heat.

Steve expects Maxie to hand the little packet to him, but she doesn't. She tears it open, pointing with her chin where she wants him, so he kneels between her thighs while she gets the condom out and rolls it on to him with confident fingers. It's snug but not uncomfortable, and she strokes him a few times after she gets it on, watching his face, smiling at how his blue eyes are glazed over.

"C'mon, Captain Hottie," She can't resist, her voice light and airy. "I think you've waited long enough." She said, urging him down with her knees against his hips.

He agrees with that sentiment so he carefully settles between her legs, propped over her on his arms. His heart is pounding and he's incredibly nervous; he hates that he doesn't know any of these things, what exactly he's supposed to do. The aching part of him slides against her, where she's slick and ready for him, and he shivers.

She reaches down and takes hold of him, guiding him into place, much to his relief because he doubts he would be able to find his own way. He's not prepared for how it feels, how tight she is around him, how hot she feels, even through the condom. He sinks into her with a shuddering breath, and says, "_Oh my God."_

Maxie doesn't say anything, just gives him a minute to gather his wits as she slowly strokes his sides with her hands and leads him into a long, hot slow kiss that has their tongues tangling languidly. He knows patience isn't one of her strong suits, she's said so herself, but here she is being so patient with him and it makes him want to kiss her face, hold her tight and how much he appreciates this, how much it means to him, but the words get caught in his throat and he can't. Words are quickly becoming an afterthought anyway because his body is overriding his mind, demanding action. He rocks his hips a little, and it feels fantastic, so he does it again, pulling back just a little more this time, which makes the slow slide back in even better.

"Just like that." She breathes out, breaking the kiss. "Just like that."

He has no plans to stop, so that request is easy to follow. He thrusts into her over and over, trying not to go too fast or too hard, but it feels so good it's hard to concentrate. She starts moving with him, tilting her hips to meet his downward strokes, and that makes it even better. It's indescribable, not at all like he imagined, and he's imagined this quite a lot.

He's not going to be able to hold out.

He pants, "I don't think I can..."

"Don't think. Think later." She pants back, urging him on with her fingers digging into the firm cheeks of his ass. He drops his head next to hers and moves faster, until he's done, breath caught in his lungs as his hips hitch against hers in jerky little thrusts. It's so intense his vision swims a little, and he sort of half-collapses on top of her as the last tremors work through him.

Afterward, he's winded and sweaty, like he just ran ten miles, but the burn of his muscles after running has never felt _this_ amazing. Though, his muscles feel almost boneless, he can feel them start to seize as panic sets in; he's never done this before, so he's not sure of the protocol and what comes next after it's over.  
Before his jumbled brain can force something stupid out of his mouth, she brings his face down to hers, searing a hot kiss against his lips, fingers easily sliding through his sweaty hair. When he pulls back, she shakes her head, diamond eyes gleaming with teasing and this easy grin twisting at the seam of her cupid's bow lips.

"God," She grumbles, an exaggerated eye roll accompanying a feigned put a upon sigh. "Do you _ever_ not look perfect? If being Captain America ever turns into a drag, you should give modeling a shot. You're disgustingly hot. Not to mention," Her voice goes from its normal staccato rhythm to something slow and smooth, like a silk scarf wrapping itself around his neck. "You're pretty good at learning on the fly. So congratulations, Steve, gold," She leans in, peppering his lips with quick kisses after each word. "Star." Kiss. "For." Kiss. "You."

The last kiss is longer and sweeter, her tongue peeking out to tease his own, to flick against the roof of his mouth and slide along his teeth before she pulls back.

As relaxed as he is, he's conscious of how heavy he must be, so with reluctance he lifts himself off of her. She lets out a breathless sigh, one he knows will haunt his dreams and come back during his lucid moments of wakefulness and when she comes back, after getting rid of the condom, her small hips are swaying [like always] and because they're unrestricted by a bra, her pert breasts bounce ever so slightly, and he's achingly aware of the fact that he's still hard.

"_Oh. My. God_." She enunciates, eyes going wide at the sight of him with tissues at the ready. "You're _still_ totally hard."

"Y-yes," He thinks he might be blushing, even after everything they just did. "It's the serum. Usually it takes..." She cuts him off before he can even finish the sentence, "_We are going to have so much fun."_

She climbs back onto her bed and settles herself on top of his lap, thighs splayed out on either side of him, her diamond eyes now gleaming like sapphires from behind the velvet of her long eyelashes as she murmurs, "Just let me do all the work, okay? You had your fun, now it's time for me to have mine."

_Note: There's going to be an epilogue for this fic. It should be up by Monday. Tuesday at the latest. Thank you so much for reviewing. I really appreciate it._


	6. Chapter 6

**~*~i'd trade my soul for a wish, pennies and dimes for a kiss~*~  
(i wasn't looking for this, but now you're in my way)  
pairing: maxie jones/steve rogers  
fandoms: general hospital/the avengers**

**~*~epilogue~*~**

After having a mild panic attack about what the proper etiquette is when Steve sees Maxie after they've had sex for the first time, things go a lot smoother.

Mostly because she seems to _instinctively_ know what do, and with a roll of her eyes and exasperation in her tone, tells him, "Helloooo, there's a _buddy_ in fuddies, remember? Seriously, you don't have to look like some petrified bunny. It's not like the sex was bad. Jeez."

He can't help but blink, a bright flush staining his cheeks and sinking into the thickness of his neck. "It wasn't?" He asked sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Ugh," She groans. "Do you not remember all the kisses and the whole, _'gold star for you'_ thing? You were," Her face softens and so does her voice. "Great."

Great seems like an exaggeration, and just as he's about to voice that opinion, she closes his mouth with two of her fingers. "So you're a little rough around the edges, big deal. You know what that means, don't you?"

He shakes his head, making her sigh loudly, but she bounces back quick; salacious grin curving her perfect cupid's bow lips. "It means," She stands on her tip toes, sliding up his hulking frame and heat ping pongs through every inch of him. Her breath's hot on his ear when she whispers huskily, "_**Lots and lots of practice."**_

And that's _exactly_ what happens; they have lots and lots of practice.

Steve never imagined he'd see the tiny blonde so enthusiastic about anything that wasn't shopping or _Vogue_ [the American, French and British versions], _E!'s Fashion Police_, which he was sure he would _never_ understand [why did they – a group of panelists – call themselves the 'police?' it seemed disrespectful to _actual_ law enforcement, but it made Maxie laugh and any time he could hear her wind chiming laughter, he considered it a victory], shoes or the various bonuses Tony would shower her with, but then she started teaching him about sex.

They spent a whole day on oral sex alone, which was a _glorious_ day as far as Steve is concerned.

First she teaches him how to use his mouth on her, moaning breathlessly when he gets something right and tugging on his hair or clawing at his shoulders and nudging when he's lost his way. She scrubs through his hair, fingers sinking into his back for purchase and arches up against his tongue, which makes him so hard he can barely _see straight_when he finally levers himself up and guides her hand to him.

It doesn't take much before he's gasping for air, barely done before he collapses next to her.

He wants to tell her what just happened was the most intense sexual experience of his life, then she rolls over, so she's on top of him and before he can let out another breath, she's kissing him everywhere. Her lips sear into his golden skin with the hottest kisses he's _ever felt_, pink tongue slipping out to drag across his nipples and teeth appearing to bite into the firm muscle of his rippling pectorals, until suddenly his length is instantly hard from her tongue touching him.

Then her whole mouth wraps around his aching shaft, tongue darting out to lick the crown, slowly.

And when it's over, he's sure she's completely flattened him, that he's been inexplicably changed and he'll never be able to want anyone else.

It seems there's no end to the things they can try, and even the ones he thinks are just okay are still pretty darn swell. He's rewarded to her wind chiming laughter when he says "swell." She rolls on top of him, kissing him lazily and when she pulls back, she shakes her head – jagged strips of her cropped hair falling in front of her eyes – which [to his dismay] she brushes back herself.

"You're _seriously_, like, unreal. I can't believe you just used _swell_ in a sentence."

Her smile is soft and beckoning, making his stomach twist and making him feel things he's not supposed to, because they are _not_ [sadly, at least for him] boyfriend and girlfriend.

Her diamond eyes are dancing, like the way the stars on inky black nights used to sparkle in the sky back in the forties before the city became a tower of skyscrapers. "_Ooooh_," She gasps, pushing herself up on her elbows so she's straddling him, legs tossed casually over each pronounced groove of his hips. "Say something else old-timey! Like... Hmmm," She pauses, tapping her chin and looking too cute, but he reminds himself not to say so, at least out loud. "Like how about all that stuff Castle said to Beckett during the _'Blue Butterfly'_ when there were those flashbacks that had them playing that couple from the thirties or whatever?"

"I was _ten_ in the thirties." He reminds her gently, chuckling low in his throat.

"Thirties, twenties, forties, whatever." She dismisses.

"You put every Gil Elvgren pinup I've ever seen to shame." He's staring right into her eyes when he says this, hoping to convey just how serious he is and at the same time hoping he doesn't, because he doesn't want to overstep or break the rules.

"Is that good?" She's biting down on her lip, the insecurity he knows is there but rarely peeks through, showing up and all he can do is say, "Yes," even though he wants to say so much more.

While some of the things they try are okay, the bulk of them prove to be absolutely fantastic.

Steve kneels on the bed and pushes into Maxie from behind [a favorite] because he can span her small waist with his entire hands, smooth his fingers over the slants of her hips and most importantly, watch himself moving in and out of her. There are times when he holds her up against the wall of the shower and blinks water out of his eyes as he thrusts up into her; curls up behind her and presses inside while his fingers work between her legs; kneels next to the bed and makes her cry out "**Steeeeeve"** and"**Don't you daaaare stoooop, ever,"** with his mouth, hands pressing her thighs open until she reluctantly admits she needs a break.

The way she pouts and huffs, makes him laugh. "It's _not_ funny!" She insists. "Just think about the crazy, amazing, wet, hot, pounding sex marathons we're **not** having because I'm not filled with super juice like you!"

It's too much and he probably shouldn't, but he can't stop himself. He's got her beautiful face cradled in his hands and he's nothing but honest. "I'm glad you're not filled with super juice. I don't want you to be filled with super juice. I just want you. The way you are. Right here, right now."

His heart is suspended in his chest, hanging by a thread, panic racing through his bones from the fear that he's said too much, that she'll say he's broke the rules, but she doesn't; she just kisses him, long and slow and sweet.

As much as Steve enjoys the sex, he likes the parts before and after nearly as much [if not more].

He likes going to Maxie's apartment and having to manhandle her onto the couch, as she squirms and bursts out in giggles, because he wants to catch up before going to the bedroom. She pushes at him, tiny hands balling into fists, that feel like soft taps against his impressive chest and arms, but he likes how she _always_ ends up giving in, pulling him down on top of her; his thick hips fitting perfectly against the slants of her sharp ones and then she starts rambling, her hands failing every which way as she tells him about how Tony blew this up and how he got mentioned nineteen times on Boing Boing [whatever that is] this week, which means – _yay!_ – she's getting a $5000 bonus this month.

She also tells him about how her Dad – a bartender in the little town where she and Robin grew up – finally learned how to Skype, how she bought the cutest little dress from Anthropologie for Emma, but that he better not tell Robin how much it cost cause"_she'll totally freak, but I just couldn't resist, you know? Every girl needs cute stuff, Captain Hottie. It's, like, the law,"_ and "_OMG, did you see what J. Law wore to the premiere of__**Catching Fire**__? Ugh, gurrrl was doing soooo good and then, just no."_

Her ramblings always end the same way; a searing kiss from him, and she moans appreciatively, fingers sinking into the thickness of his hair and arching up into his hulking frame.

"I like," She'll whisper, eyes dazed over and beautiful. "How you're taking charge more. Gold." Kiss. "Star." Kiss. "For." Kiss. "You." Kiss.

He likes how he'll sometimes stand in her kitchen, naked and pleasantly tired while helping himself to the leftover Chinese or Thai food inside. He likes the way she sometimes pushes his damp hair off his forehead and teasingly kisses him there when they're done, and he likes dozing in her bed with his arm slung over her between rounds.

And as much as he hates to leave, he likes kissing her goodbye at the door, pinching her small but beautifully curved bottom on his way out, just to make her eyes go wide and shout with faux scandal, "Captain Hottie? More like _**Captain Naughty!**_"

But he does hate to leave before morning.

He hates it more as time goes on, really, but he respects her too much to try and talk her into letting him stay. He can't help but think how nice it would be, though, if she wanted him to. He'd like to wake up together, in the same bed, naked and warm. He'd like to make her moan and watch her hands clutch at his shoulders in the early morning light and then eat breakfast together, just the two of them in the nook inside her kitchen that's under the window.

He's not sure she would welcome the suggestion. There's a rule against it, after all.

So like everything else he wants to say to her, he swallows it down.

At first they see each other, once a week or so, and Steve leaves it to Maxie to initiate, but their lives being what they are, sometimes plans fall apart and after a while he gets more comfortable sending her text messages and asking if he can come over when he's free.

He never breaks the "no drop-ins" rule (until he does), but that doesn't come until later.

They go on some more non-dates to official things, and he buys her more jewelry. This is very obviously against the rules, but he decides it will seem suspicious if he stops – Tony will _definitely_ ask why, and he never lets anything go – so he keeps doing it, and surprisingly she lets him. The first time he shows up at her door with another velvet box, he has this whole argument for jewelry practiced, but she never even brings it up.

She just smiles this enigmatic smile, his heart does flips in his chest, and she holds out her wrist after examining the Tiffany's bracelet, complete with signature heart charm.

So that's one rule broken right from the start, but there are seven more and he's determined to stick to those.

Maxie is a text messaging fiend, he soon finds out, sometimes even sending two or three in a row, so fast he can barely respond even when he has his phone in hand.

She sends him pictures of herself – mostly in various outfits and sunglasses, asking him which she looks better in – sometimes there will be pictures of herself with Emma, getting matching manicures and pedicures or them eating cupcakes from a local bakery that specializes in _'Avengers'_ themed versions of the sweets [he tries not to read too much into her always having the Captain America cupcake; instead he comments on Emma _never_ failing to have her little hands wrapped around the green and purple Hulk cupcake] – she'll even send him slide shows of the little girl in various outfits and posing.

Other times she'll text him pictures of random strangers she sees on the street or at events when she's with Tony, and he laughs at her hilarious observations. She'll tell him if she were a superhero, she'd save all the fashion victims of the world from themselves.

He has to swallow thickly because an image of her in a tight fitting suit – not unlike the one Natasha wears on missions – comes into his head.

He _really_ gets a laugh, though, when she sends him pictures of Tony getting his facial hair dyed and makes him pinky swear – when they see each other again – that he'll never tell anyone.

It's the first time he seeks her out after a mission that he breaks the 'no drop-ins' rule. It was the one rule he never thought he'd break. Manners and boundaries are two important things to him, two things he can't leave behind in the forties.

But when the mission's over, Pepper's gently stroking the sharp shape of Tony's beard, drawing his forehead to hers, soft smile on her face as he bats at her and whines, "None of this sappy shit, Pep. I didn't even almost die this time, so cool it."

The strawberry blonde just shakes her head and soon they're kissing, nice and slow.

Thor and Jane's reunion isn't unlike Tony and Pepper's and neither is Bruce and Robin's; though, Bruce hasn't de-Hulked yet, the head of **S.H.I.E.L.D.'s** medical team is right by the enormous beast's side along with her five year old little girl, Emma, who has become very fond of the brute and is loudly (and off-key) singing what Steve assumes is a lullaby, the Hulk with a content smile on his face and humming along with the tiny brunette.

Clint and Natasha don't have a reunion, per say, as they were fighting side by side. All they do is share a knowing glance, and head back inside the tower, their fingers touching briefly.

Steve sighs, his heart heavy in his chest and his eyes growing heavy from the memories he never had with Peggy bubbling up to the surface. It's not the first time he's wished he hadn't crashed the Valkaryie and lost the chance at a life with the auburn-haired English beauty. His stomach twists as the black and white of Peggy fades away and the bright, vibrancy of Maxie takes over.

It's so clear; her racing to meet him on the helipad, teetering on her dangerously high spiked shoes, pushing her way through everyone to get to him. She'd leap at him, legs wrapping tight around his waist and he would easily catch her just as she forcefully pressed her lips to his, initiating a hot, smoldering kiss. He swears he can actually feel his lips tingle like they always do whenever they've kissed.

He has to see her. He knows he should text, that just showing up isn't allowed, but he's already standing at her door before his rational mind takes over. He knocks once and then twice and just as he's about to knock for the fifth time, the door swings open and there she is.

He swallows hard; she'll call him unreal or a liar if he said out loud that she looks beautiful, so he doesn't. He just takes in the way she's blinking the sleep from her eyes, like a kitten rudely woken from a nap, how her hair's jagged edges are sticking in clumps, the crease on her face from her pillow and the fluffy pink robe she's wearing that looks too big on her tiny frame.

"Since when do you break the rules?" She mumbles, fighting back a yawn that escapes, anyway.

"Do they still say there's a first time for everything?" He murmurs, sheepish grin tilting the pink of his full lips as he nervously rubs the back of his neck.

"Ugh," She groans, reaching for his hand and pulling him inside her apartment. "I don't know what's fried my ovaries more; your hotness or your cuteness. When you make that puppy face it's like I'm watching Emma teach the Hulk _'Patty Cake.'_ Or, you know, one of those adorable animal videos on youtube that I send Tony just to annoy him."

"I'm sorry." He's so sincere that the chiseled angles of his cheekbones are flushed and Maxie shakes her head. "Don't be sorry. It's not every day _the hottest Avenger_ shows up on my doorstep, you know?" She winks at the end and his heart flip flops.

"I..." He swallows, his fingers sifting through his uncharacteristically mussed hair. "Tonight was rough." He admits, looking down at the floor instead of her eyes.

"But _you're_ okay, aren't you?" Her voice is so soft, he wouldn't believe she was next to him on her couch if he couldn't smell her familiar heady scent of amber. It drowns out the grease and the soot and the burning smell that's still heavy inside his lungs, and he can't stop himself from reaching for her, and soon she's sitting in his lap, his arms wound around her small back and holding her so close.

How long they stay like that he doesn't know, but the next day [he eventually leaves and they don't have sex], he gets a text from her saying; _**I suck comforting people, but ur hot, so I'll make an exception. If u freak out or whatever, just come over. We'll have sex or not, but I'd prefer that we do, LOL **_

It's months later and fall has slowly turned into winter.

There are _a lot_ more sights of Maxie in her stockings with seams going up the back, trench coats, berets and scarfs. He sighs when he notices how Bruce will wrap Robin in one of his suit coats or how Jane will show up to the tower drowning in Thor's leather jacket, and he wants to do that with Maxie.

He imagines her drowning in his brown leather bomber jacket; fingers barely peeking out from the edges of the sleeves. It makes a warmth slowly bloom in the pit of his stomach, one that goes away far too fast because that isn't in the cards for them, is it?

But he wants it to be, so bad.

And that's how Steve finds himself in Tony's lab just a few weeks before Christmas. He wants to take Maxie to see The Rockettes and the lighting of the tree at Rockafeller Center, two traditions from his own time that are still alive and well. He knows she'd enjoy the costumes of The Rockettes and he wants the mental image of her face being all aglow from the bright lights of the tree, so he can sketch it from memory.

He just knows it would be a beautiful sight.

But taking her to the tree lighting and going to see The Rockettes seems too much like a date, and he doesn't want to invite the others along, because he just wants it to be them, but he's not sure how exactly he goes about asking her without revealing his true intentions. Because the last thing he wants is for their foray into fuddies to end.

He's come to rely on her more than she knows and she's opened him up in ways he never thought any woman but Peggy ever could.

"**Oh. My. God."** Tony groans, pushing his dark red safety goggles onto his forehead. "Are you just going to stand there like you're Capsicle 2.0? Or are you going to move? Or speak? Cause Jesus-Fucking-Christ..."

Tony can't finish because Steve fixes him with a hard glare and his jaw set tight. "_Don't_use the Lord's name with an expletive."

The engineer just rolls his eyes. "I'll put a fifty in the swear jar Tweety Bird Junior carries around."

Steve's brows furrow together. "_Tweety Bird Junior?"_

"Yeah, you know, _Bruce's little canary's mini-me_. Emily or Emila... No," Tony mumbled. "_Emmy_!" He snapped his fingers. "Emmy carries around a swear jar because of my mouth. She should really call it her _college fund_, and her little canary of a Mama should erect a monument to me. I doubt that kid's father is doing nearly as much as I am to pay for her education."

"Tony," The All-American hero pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head solemnly. "Robin's little girl's name _isn't_ Emmy, it's **Emma**."

"Emmy, Emma, whatever. So just tell me what piece of 21st Century technology has eluded your 1940's ye olde brain, I've got shit to weld and a Mark IV to modify, so chop-chop, Uncle Sam. Time is money and a genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist's time is_more_ money than you'd know what to do with, so out with it."

"I... Um," He rubs the back of his neck, anxious and nervous. "How... Um, if you... Do... Can..." He takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders and staring straight into Tony's dark eyes. "Is it possible to go from," He pauses, knowing Tony won't understand 'fuddies,' and continues, "To go from being fuck buddies," He winces at the word. "To being something more with someone?"

Tony hums as he crosses his arms and squints at Steve. "This about Tinker Belle?"

Steve has a moment of absolute horror and panic, and somehow he refrains from denying everything and rushing back upstairs as fast as his feet can carry him. There it is, a third rule smashed to pieces. No one is supposed to know. "H-how do you know about Maxie?"

Looking bored, the engineer reaches for whatever he was working on and buries his head amongst the gears and wires as he says dully, "Really, Spangles," He glances up to shoot Steve a deadpan look. "Who else would be your fuck buddy? Natasha? Ha!" He crows before snapping his fingers at a lingering DUM-E and demanding, "Make yourself useful for once in your miserable life and hand me that set of pliers."

After DUM-E hands Tony the pliers, he says, "This is a moment of pure honesty coming from me, Captain Apple Pie, so savor it. Not that I'd _want_ to imagine it, but for the sake of this conversation, I can't imagine you being anyone's fuck buddy. You're one of those sensitive nice guy types, who's all _I want to hold hands and cuddle and be in love and shit puppies and rainbows before I even get to second base_. It's disgusting. ANYWAY... So if you were going to go against type and actually engage in such – _gasp_ – lurid behavior as casual sex, it'd have to be with someone you know. And I already know who it isn't; Pepper," Tony flicks off the names with his fingers. "Robin or Jane, which leaves Anastasia and Tink. If you were making the beast with two backs with Anastasia, there's _no way_ you wouldn't have arrows coming out of your ass. Everyone knows she's got **property of Katniss** tattooed on her gorgeous ass, so that leaves Tink."

Tony levels Steve with a glare. "Who is an employee of mine, by the way, so you better not be fucking her on _my_ time."

Steve doesn't know where to start with any of that, so he goes for the most offensive part first. "W-we never did _anything_ while she was..."

"Ugh, I was joking." Tony says grinning. "Besides, who am I to tell you not to fuck her on my time? Please, do you know how many assistants I've fucked on company time? My own and everyone else's?"

"Um..." He rubs the back of his neck, cheeks flushing bright. "A lot?" He offers, wishing that Tony would stop saying 'fuck' and variations of.

"_A lot_," Tony repeats, salacious grin plastered on his face and looking far too pleased. "ANYWAY... To answer your question, yeah, going from fuck buddies to more can be done. I mean, I've never done it, but that doesn't mean it's impossible. The only problem is, if you bring it up and she says no, you've screwed yourself – royally – cause if she's not interested, she'll probably break it off and then you've left yourself with nothing, and nothing sucks worse than nothing. Cause nothing means no more sex."

Steve doesn't say anything, he just nods, giving the engineer a silent thank you and retreats up to his room. Ultimately he decides not to do anything rash because not having anything with Maxie is worse than what they have now, despite how bittersweet it's turned out to be.

It's a few weeks after Steve decided not to do anything rash that a mission ends, not necessarily badly, but no one walks away without spending time in medical; significant time. Even with his super-healing, he's laid up with bruised ribs, a dislocated shoulder and a mild concussion.

He blames what he says to Maxie, when he finds her at his bedside after he closed his eyes for a moment [he was asleep for an hour, according to a disapproving Robin, who says that's why she called Maxie, to make sure he didn't fall asleep again, super-healing or no], on the mild concussion.

She's right there; her scent of amber swirling around him, nervously wringing her hands, fiddling with the lollipop charm that hangs from the necklace he bought her, round eyes worry-filled and her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip. She's beautiful [like always] even if she's only wearing ripped jeans and a low v-neck t-shirt with her hair twisted into a messy bun.

"I broke a rule," He murmurs, fighting off a yawn. "Several," He manages a dry chuckle. "If you want to know the truth."

"Oh, yeah?" Her cupid's bow lips twist into a wry smile as she clutches at his hand.

"I did. I, um, I broke the one about the feelings." He admits with great difficulty. "I think I broke it a long time ago." He confesses, his fingers squeezing hers.

He watches her closely; trying to decipher the smallest reaction on her always oh-so expressive face. The smooth column of her throat bobs slowly and she blinks a few times, her thick lashes fluttering like the wings of a butterfly, and he has to swallow as he remembers Tony's words from weeks before; he could have just left himself with nothing.

She sighs heavily, and on reflex he squeezes her fingers harder, ready to apologize when she winces, but she starts talking before he can. "Okay, um, wow. So _feelings_... Ugh. Look," She levels with him, her diamond eyes as open and honest as he's ever seen them. "I am _not_ the girlfriend type, okay? I'm the girl guys cheat on their girlfriends with. I love 'em and I leave 'em. There's a string of guys back in mine and Robin's hometown that would run in the other direction if they saw me coming. I suck at relationships. **Like, royally**. Just when I think I've got it right, I think about all the guys I could have, and then I go and do something stupid. You don't want me the way you think you do. I'll just wreck you too."

Steve's head spinning from her confession more so than his mild concussion, he's sure. He doesn't understand how she can think so lowly of herself, that she's not worth someone loving her and wanting to be with her in the most romantic sense possible. She had a whole life before him, he knows that and he had one before her, but he believes – deep down – that they can build one together, just for the two of them, with only the future guiding them and not the past.

He lets go of her hand and raises his good arm, cupping her cheek inside his palm and drawing her close so their foreheads are touching. "You're wrong. You're not going to wreck me. How could you when you're the one who put me back together?"

He's so sincere Maxie wants to cry. There he is, the perfect All-American hero with his big baby blue eyes that are so honest and real, staring at her and telling her with no hesitation in his voice that she put him back together.

Her head can't help but spin, because that's insane. She doesn't put people back together, she tears them down. But he's telling her that she put him back together, and she can't help but believe him.

He's fucking Captain America why would he lie? Hell, he _can't_ even lie.  
"Yeah?" Is all she can get out, just barely above a whisper, so soft she's not even sure she said anything.

"Yeah." He assures, drawing her lips into the softest kiss they've ever shared.


End file.
